


The Twelve Years Of Christmas

by RZZMG, smutty_claus



Series: Harry x Ron stories [3]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Children, Christmas, Christmas Fluff, Christmas Smut, Comedy, Community: smutty_claus, Double Penetration, Drama, Drama-Angst, Engagement, Exhibitionism, F/M, Falling In Love, Fluff, Multi, Office Sex, Oral Sex, Pregnancy Scares, Public Sex, Romance, Seduction, Sex Club, Threesome - F/M/M, Trouble with the in-laws, Unplanned Pregnancy, cooking disasters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-29
Updated: 2019-01-06
Packaged: 2019-09-27 14:30:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 14,253
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17163716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RZZMG/pseuds/RZZMG, https://archiveofourown.org/users/smutty_claus/pseuds/smutty_claus
Summary: Each Christmas brings about a new miracle for three people struggling to find their place in a non-conforming relationship that’s difficult to navigate, especially with family expectations, personal anxieties, and social pressures at every turn.





	1. In the first year of Christmas, my true love gave to me...

**Author's Note:**

  * For [nutmeg_44](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=nutmeg_44).



> Gift for: "nutmeg_44"  
> Note to my giftee: I tried to include as many prompts as I could for you. I hope you enjoy - Happy Christmas!!!
> 
> Prompts Used: porn with plot, romance, humour, witty banter, fluff, pureblood wizarding society and its trappings, dating-before-they-knew-they-were-dating, passionate women, intelligent men, respectful relationships, Wall!sex, Table!sex, secretly seducing each other in public spaces, Male dom/not necessarily submissive female, almost getting caught, use of secondary characters, all the holiday clichés—fluff and snow and candy canes.
> 
> Thank you so much to the fabulous and enthusiastic "gjeangirl" for the massive beta help, and to the Mods for the kind extension!!!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter titles are from "The Twelve Days of Christmas".

 

* * *

 

**YEAR ONE: I don't want a lot for Christmas  
By Ron**

**  
**

_Rules:_

_One, keep my nosy and judgmental mother away from my personal life._

_Two, never get involved with another woman. Pregnancy scares suck._

_Three, never fall in love._

 

I wish I could say been fairly good over the years dodging and weaving my way through relationships to avoid breaking those commandments, but the truth is, I’m Gryffindor and we wear our hearts on our sleeves.

And we do everything big, but never easy.

That’s just the way it is.

This Christmas sort of proved that…

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

**INTERMISSION ONE**

 

She sank to the floor at his feet and pulled down the zipper on his trousers with a naughty smile. Ron’s knees shook and with a nervous glance, he checked the door once more.

Still unlocked. Completely insecure. Anyone could walk in.

Her hand stroked over the bulge below his belt.

Ah, who the fuck cared? Nothing was more important right that moment than Parkinson’s complete focus on getting him naked.

Neither of them was stopping this madness, even if the entire Ministry ended up voyeurs as to what was going down in the upstairs conference room during their annual Christmas charity event. Hell, it’d probably double the donations.

As his trousers and pants were shoved down, his cock spilled into Pansy’s eager, warm hand and she wasted no time in stroking away his tension, setting his jitters at ease. As her red-painted nails scraped gently along the bottom of his shaft, Ron threw his head back and moaned in pleasure, his volume unrestrained as he fully enjoyed giving in to the seduction she’d been determinedly playing at with him for the past several weeks at the office.

He’d resisted her for as long as he could, but seeing her tonight in that dress, dancing with her and feeling her lithe, soft body pressed so tightly into his… It reminded him that there was a whole other side of the sex equation he’d been purposefully missing out on for years, mainly to avoid pregnancy scares. While spinning his co-worker around the dance floor, he’d suddenly been struck with the realization that he could have her like that, if he’d wanted, because it was what _she_ so obviously wanted, too…and then he couldn’t stop thinking about it.

It had been a long time since he’d been with a woman, the last being Hermione right after the war, and he’d realized fairly early on that women were too complicated for him to manoeuver. Not that he didn’t like pussy, but it was just easier all-around with men, and so sticking to rule number two hadn’t been a problem for the past five years, since he’d been single and swinging.

Then Parkinson had come to work with them in M.L.E. and she’d turned him around like a top.

Tonight, he’d been too weak to fight the attraction any longer. Her sultry perfume, the diamonds at her throat, the teasing promise of her taut nipples against the silk chiffon gown had all worked their magic too well. It hadn’t taken much more than, “let’s find someplace quiet,” for him to give in.

Parkinson hummed and her grey eyes laughed up at him in wicked triumph as she bent her head to the head of his cock. “Oh, hell,” he hissed as her tongue darted out to lap at the pre-come that wept from the tiny slit. She licked him clean with that same sexy smile, and then engulfed him in a single swallow, taking him deep into her mouth. “Oh, fuck!” His hips rocked into the movement of her hand and mouth working simultaneously to pleasure him.

The hard, slick feel of his flesh shoving past her soft lips into the wet suction of her mouth had fire curling up his spine. He shuddered and arched into her, silently begging her to take every inch he could feed her. She hummed, and the vibration traveled up the heavily-veined shaft and sunk into his balls, making them throb. At this rate, he wouldn’t last long. Getting his cock sucked was a surefire way to make him come fast, more so than being buried inside someone’s arse.

The magically lit sconces on the wall reflected off the beading of Parkinson’s evening gown and in the golden strands of her champagne-pale hair as she bent her head to take him to the hilt. He feathered his fingers through it, found it to be as soft as spun starlight against his broom-calloused and sun-freckled hand. Tightening his grip through the strands, he gasped and shuddered.

He was down her throat.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured as he withdrew, only to slowly sink back into the depths of her warm, wet mouth. “I want to come, just like this, with you looking at me. I want you to swallow every drop I give you.”

She looked up at him with those silvery-grey eyes and blinked to give her consent.

Carefully, he thrust into her mouth, letting her suck him until the pressure built to a crescendo that demanded release. With a shout, spurts of hot come exploded out of him, filling her mouth. She struggled to swallow it as quickly as he put it out, but a dribble of white escaped the corner of her perfectly rouged lips.

She looked gorgeous with his come on her lips and chin.

Next time, he was going to paint her with it.

With a final shudder, Ron’s whole body relaxed. He sat back against the conference table, watching Pansy lick the residual stickiness of his cock, a sated cat-like smile upon both of their faces.

“My turn.”

Ron glanced up, alarmed to have been caught…only to find Harry coming in and closing the door behind him.

This time, the door was locked, and the room Silenced.

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "I don't want a lot for Christmas" - lyric from "All I Want For Christmas Is You" by Mariah Carey.


	2. In the second year of Christmas, my true love gave to me...

* * *

 

**YEAR TWO: I may be rushing things, but deck the halls again now**

**By Harry**

 

I don’t know why I keep going back to her.

 

Ron’s easily explained. Put us together and you’ll understand. We’re united even when we’re not touching. Like the endless night and a crackling fire, it’s a primal need.

 

One and one make two. It’s sensible.

 

Parkinson’s a little more difficult. She’s all sparkling gold and icy snow, high noon in the arctic…a Christmas tree pre-lit and covered in gaudy tinsel. Ron says she has the personality of a roaring flame hidden in the darkest shadow, though, and maybe that’s why she confuses me: I see us in her and her in us.

 

I see one and one and one, and think three is a dangerous number. It never works out for me.

 

…What if it did, though?

 

I don’t know which thought scares me more.

 

* * *

 

 

**INTERMISSION TWO**

 

Harry had Parkinson splayed out across the table on her belly, arse in the air, and he was buried deep inside her slick, hungry cunt. Her skirt was up around her hips and her lacy black knickers around her knees, and in those high heels, she was at the perfect height for his cock to slide right in.

 

“God, you feel good,” he whispered, holding still a moment longer to enjoy the sensation of her inner walls trembling around him. “It’s always like this. It’s never stopped being this bloody good.”

 

This was the best part about shagging the witch: her body was naturally sensual, without pretense. The rest of her was all Slytherin sham, but her pussy never lied.

 

He set a slow, steady pace and kept the noise to a minimum. They were at work after all, and if they were caught fraternizing like this by one of their colleagues, they were going to get a nasty reprimand…or worse. Robards didn’t like his staff airing their personal lives around his office, and he detested scandal. There had been more than a few transfers over the years as a result of inter-office extramarital affairs.

 

“Potter,” she whined in a soft voice. “Fuck me harder, damn you!”

 

“Shhh, can’t,” he replied and reached around her hip, bent over her back, and caressed her clit with his fingertips. “Just don’t scream, okay?”

 

“I don’t scream,” she argued, but muffled a hand over her mouth as he stroked her soft flesh and began moving his hips.

 

Harry snickered at her stubborn refusal to give him even that much of an inch, finding it to be a surprisingly charming trait.

 

She did turn and growl at him when he didn’t speed up or change the tempo of his strokes, and it was an adorable kittenish sound. “You know, I really like having you,” he admitted in her ear as he teased her until she was arching into him and making little fuck noises in the back of her throat. “Are you going to let Ron have you today, too?”

 

“He already did,” she admitted, smirking at him over her shoulder. “This morning, he bent me over this table, too.”

 

“He… Oh, hell!”

 

Harry’s release roared through him, unstoppable.

 

He’d never come so fast, or as hard. His head was still spinning several minutes after he’d been drained.

 

Afterwards, Parkinson helped straighten him out, and then she did something unexpected: she stretched up on tiptoe and kissed his mouth. When he raised an eyebrow at that peculiarly romantic move, she simply shrugged it off. “Thought I saw some mistletoe dangling above you. It’s only a cobweb, though,” she explained, and with a jaunty grin, walked out of the unused office-slash-temporary storage space and back to her own desk.

 

Harry watched her arse disappear, waited an appropriate amount of time, and then followed.

 

He whistled a lively Christmas tune all the way back to his office.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "I may be rushing things but deck the halls again now" - lyric from "We Need A Little Christmas" by Johnny Mathis


	3. In the third year of Christmas, my true love gave to me...

* * *

 

 

**YEAR THREE: Gone away is the bluebird, here to stay is a new bird**

**By Pansy**

 

Holidays were designed for the sole purpose of passing off unwanted and cheap goods to suckers and beggars.

 

That and for an excuse to invent new alcoholic beverages.

 

For me, it’s all about the fucking. You can re-gift that to me any day.

 

* * *

 

 

**INTERMISSION THREE**

 

The heavy, black velvet curtain fell from the ceiling and kept her face from being revealed to outsiders, but it stopped at her neck, leaving the rest of her on full display. Her arms were magically bound by invisible ropes from the same hook as the curtains, and she was naked.

 

She’d never felt so vulnerable. Or anxious.

 

In the glass window, she could see her belly button piercing winking at her as the red, green, white, and gold lights from the club outside the Silence Room flashed around, creating a dizzying panoramic of visual effects to entice those out on the dance floor into a frenzy of movement.

 

Thank goodness her face was covered, or she’d probably have been too disoriented to go on.

 

Ron was suddenly behind her and his powerful arms slid around her waist and centered her, locking her in the moment with him and Harry. They were together in the Silence Room, which was warded against any outside interruption, and the glass wall before her was tempered so the music blaring outside was muffled and low enough for them to talk and be able to hear each other.

 

“You’re so gorgeous, Pans, and everyone out there sees it now.”

 

He cupped her high, tight breasts and played with the cherry-red nipples, pinching and pulling them until they were hard enough to cut diamond. The electric sensation he created had her arching like a cat in heat against him. He was as naked as she, and his cock rode her backside as he teased and aroused her into a fevered state of want once again.

 

“I’m going to fuck you while they watch,” he told her, his hot breath panting against her ear. “See their feet outside the window? They’re gathered there, watching us right now.”

 

Pansy glanced down, noted the heels and the boots, the jeans and the leathers all standing around to catch the show. Dozens of people were getting ready to play voyeur to some hot, live porn. Starring her. The thought had her core clenching and her stomach fluttering. She’d never done anything this daring before. It was utter madness, and yet being there with Ron and Harry, she wasn’t scared. They’d protect her. They’d make sure she came again and again. They never failed in that duty.

 

Ron lifted her and she spread her legs. She was so wet and she was trembling when he thrust deep and impaled her on his cock, and it hurt so good because of his size. The cry that left her lips was unheard and unseen by the crowd outside, but it echoed off the glass walls of the Silence Room.

 

Harry was suddenly there, coming in from the side, and while Ron held her hips, Harry played with her breasts some more and even caressed her clit. He spread her fleshy lips wide so the room outside could get an unimpeded view of Ron ploughing into her, stretching her cunt wide over his heavy shaft.

 

“We should pierce your nipples,” Harry said and plucked at one until it ached and was sore. “They’re the perfect size for it.”

 

“Fuck yeah,” Ron agreed, slamming her so hard, the sounds of flesh slapping together was nearly as loud as a spanking. “Little gold hoops, so we’ll match.”

 

Just like what he had.

 

Pansy’s body shook as her orgasm overtook her at the thought of them piercing her and decorating her skin with expensive, sparkling gems. She screamed in pleasure, shaking from head to toe.

 

A moment later, Ron was stilling and coming inside her, his heavy breath a hot blast of air against the nape of her neck.

 

When he finished, he pulled out, and she could feel his semen dripping out of her. The thought of her wet, well-used cunt on display for all those people outside nearly sent her into a swoon and a second orgasm.

 

Harry took over then, quickly switching places with his partner. His shaft wasn’t as thick, but it was long and he’d pierced the head. As it slid deep inside her, she felt the metal ball of his piercing rubbing against tender tissues that were still pulsing from her first climax. It sent her blood to boiling once more. “Can’t get enough of you both,” she panted as Harry drove into her, splitting her legs wide and tilting her at such an angle that his fucking of her was on full display. Everyone was watching her take it, knew she was loving it. “It’s so good. Don’t ever stop, please!”

 

“Not ever?” Ron asked from somewhere behind them. “Is that your wish this year, love? Is that the Christmas gift you want from us? You want us to keep you?”

 

“Yes, fuck yes!” she cried and came again, drenching Harry’s cock with her juices.

 

Behind her, Harry chuckled and it was a dark, wicked sound that sent tingles up her spine. He pressed a kiss to her ear and whispered, “Happy Christmas, Pansy,” and then proceeded to shag her into exhaustion.

 

That night, at their coaxing, she went back to their shared flat and slept between her two boys. It wasn’t the first time they’d all lain together in the same bed, but it was the first time all three stayed the entire night tangled up as one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Gone away is the bluebird, here to stay is a new bird" lyric from "Winter Wonderland" by Felix Bernard & Richard B. Smith.


	4. In the fourth year of Christmas, my true love gave to me...

* * *

 

 

**YEAR FOUR: Let your heart be light**

**By Ron**

 

Fucking her is like flying blind in the snow: mount up, ride hard towards that horizon until you’re gasping for air, then let go and fall and hope you don’t crash too hard.

 

You’re not thinking she might get pregnant when you’re coming, because it feels too bloody good to stop and pull out.

 

We had our first scare this week.

 

When Mum found out, she was livid. My ears are still ringing, like church bells on Christmas morning or some shite. Keeping rule number one’s impossible with that woman’s keen nose always able to scent trouble.

 

The whole gag turned out negative, thankfully.

 

No stuffing for the bird.

 

I really should take rule number two more seriously…but staying away from Pansy is not going to happen. I’m hooked.

 

Hell, I broke rule number three this year when I whispered it in her ear after sex.

 

Maybe it’s time for some new rules?

 

* * *

 

 

**INTERMISSION FOUR**

 

Harry was behind her, driving hard as she sucked Ron’s cock deep into her throat. The angle gave a perfect view of both men as they forced her to take everything they had to give, and the ecstasy on her face was quite astonishing.

 

Did she really look like that during sex?

 

She looked so…submissive, used.

 

“Scoot over and share the snacks,” Harry commanded, and Pansy immediately did as he bade. She’d become somewhat conditioned to follow the leads of her two Doms over the past year, so much so that sometimes their bedroom play bled over into other aspects of their lives. Like now, when Harry was forcing her to make room for him beside her so he could watch the porn movie they’d made together. Usually, Pansy didn’t share her things, most especially her food, but with her Doms, she gave without thought.

 

It felt good.

 

“Ron’s still out, huh?”

 

She nodded. “I’m sure he’s fine, though.”

 

Still, she cast a quick, worried glance at the window, noting how the snow was beginning to fall a little heavier.

 

Her red-headed lover wasn’t due to come home for another few hours, as he was helping his brother out at his shop in the Alley tonight. Once a month, he volunteered to help George Weasley with his inventory, and tonight was that night, despite the nasty snowstorm brewing outside. Usually, on these nights, she would go see one of her old friends in Slytherin while Harry went to Andromeda’s to spend time with his godchild, Teddy Lupin. Tonight, though, they were both home because of the weather...and were now watching one of the porns they’d made together using Harry’s bizarre Muggle technology.

 

It had taken her almost the entire last year to fully understand Harry’s television and stereo and video players enough to operate them on her own. Growing up she’d never been exposed to anything quite so bizarre; her parents had been pureblood traditionalists, and that included ignoring Muggles and their ‘common’ inventions as much as possible.

 

If only she’d known better, she could have enjoyed years of _EastEnders_!

 

Reaching for the remote, she put the video on pause.

 

Harry turned to her. He didn’t need to ask what was wrong, so in tune with each other that they were by then, so he waited patiently for her to explain her thoughts.

 

“This…is awkward, isn’t it?” she hesitantly asked. “I mean, it’s strange watching ourselves…you know.” She waved at the frozen image of her and the boys, mid-fuck. It was sort of a silly pose, really, with their faces paused in some truly embarrassing expressions. Quickly, she turned the video off instead. “When we agreed to record it, it seemed like fun, but now that I can see it…”

 

She bit her bottom lip, unsure how to go on.

 

How could she tell him that she felt like she was nothing more than a fuck-puppet when she looked at what they did together?

 

How could she explain that she was ashamed of letting herself be treated as such?

 

With a small sigh, Harry took the bowl of pretzels from her hand and set it aside. Then, he reached for her and tucked her into his chest. She snuggled close, loving the smell of his aftershave and the clean scent of soap just there in the bend of his neck. “You’re the most beautiful and complicated women I’ve ever known,” he murmured against the top of her head, “and you drive me wild in every way because of it. Yeah, there’s nothing I want more then to be buried inside you twenty-four, seven. You’ve got the softest, sexiest body I’ve ever touched, and you’re so responsive. Watching me having you, reliving that moment only reinforces that need.” He placed a small kiss atop the shell of her ear. “But it doesn’t substitute for it. The video will never be as good as the real thing, and both Ron and I know it.”

 

She trembled against him, the reason for her vulnerability suddenly clarified by Harry’s insightful understanding.

 

“You’re more than just sex to us, Pansy. Don’t you know that by now?”

 

Deep inside, she did, but the way she’d been raised had taught her that pureblood women were tools for men’s needs and that creeping doubt kept lingering in her head and heart, cropping up at the most inopportune moments, like now. Her mother had been abused terribly by her unfaithful and unkind father, and the woman was now a bitter, old crone for it. Daphne and Astoria both were headed in the same direction, as neither Theodore Nott nor Draco Malfoy loved the sisters as a man should love his greatest treasure.

 

She didn’t want to end up like that.

 

“I don’t want to be the only submissive in this relationship, then,” she dared.

 

Harry drew back, cupped her cheeks and forced her to look him in the eye. “Sweetheart, you aren’t.” He reached for the remote, turned the video back on and made her watch. “There, you see?” he said, pressing his mouth to her ear again as together they viewed their love-making in a new light. “Right there, you’re coming. Do you see what’s happening?”

 

Wide-eyed and with a dawning understanding, Pansy finally saw: Ron and Harry had waited for her to find her pleasure, and only then did they take theirs.

 

They’d waited for her. They’d serviced her needs first.

 

They’d treated her like a queen, not a slave.

 

She took the remote from him, backed up the footage, and played it again. And again and again until the message finally sunk in.

 

When it did, something inside her broke free and flew.

 

“I love you,” she whispered, turning to him. Hastily, she wiped the unexpected bout of tears that had sprung from her eyes as the happiness within her burst into life. “I love you both until I want to die from it.”

 

Harry brushed the tears from her cheeks and gave her a sweet smile. “It’s about time! I was sure you were going set your heels in and never admit it, you stubborn Slytherin.”

 

She pounced on him, feeling lighter than she had in a very long time, and hissed like a snake in his face. “I want to hear you roar for me, Mister Gryffindor.”

 

An hour later, Ron came home to find Pansy rather athletically riding Harry in the middle of the living room floor, the porn video of their sessions together over the last month playing on in the background on the telly. Shucking his clothes quickly, he joined them, sliding into her as her dark-haired lover was finally spent.

 

“Happy Christmas to all!” he growled and proceeded to shag her into nirvana.

 

Of course, he waited for her to come first before finding his own release, and then he did so only after Pansy had admitted aloud how much she loved her boys.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Let your heart be light" lyric from "Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas" by Hugh Martin and Ralph Blane.


	5. In the fifth year of Christmas, my true love gave to me...

* * *

 

 

**YEAR FIVE: Don't make me fall in love again if he won't be here next year**

**By Pansy**

 

I’ll never understand the push by society to turn a relationship that’s already monogamous and committed into something guaranteed to end in divorce.

 

Why do I _need_  to be married?

 

I don’t.

 

If I want to get married, I will, but no one’s pressuring me into it.

 

No one.

 

Besides, I will not end up like my mother, trapped in a marriage to a man who only wants her for breeding purposes!

 

* * *

 

**INTERMISSION FIVE**

 

“Let’s be reasonable about this,” Harry pointed out, choosing his words carefully.

 

In his experience, women tended to become irrational at the use of the word, ‘irrational’ by a man, especially when used about them and their need to reach for frying pans when angry. The best way to diffuse an argument when Pansy started rummaging in the kitchen for hard cookware within reach was to appear to take her side.

 

“No one’s saying we need to get married now.”

 

“You’re only doing this because you think I’m pregnant again.”

 

“No, we’re not,” he insisted.

 

She pointed at the small, wrapped Christmas present in Harry’s hand. “Then why are you holding a ring box?”

 

“Oi, how do you know it’s an engagement ring?” Ron argued to throw her off the scent. “Could be a…a tie pin.”

 

Harry and Pansy both cast him a look that said he was being stupid.

 

Ron just grinned and gave a nonchalant shrug. “Worth a try.”

 

“The point is: a ring is a big commitment,” Pansy insisted, turning back to Harry. “It’s as good as a betrothal agreement!”

 

“So?” Harry demanded, beginning to take her rejection hard. “We’re practically married as it is, Pansy! I mean, we’re already living together. We’ve been shagging for five years. We’ve had two pregnancy scares in that time, and you know what? I’d hoped both times it would turn out positive, okay? Why is that such a bad thing?”

 

Her face went ghost-like pale, as drained of blood as if Sanguini, himself, had come for an afternoon luncheon appointment at her throat.

 

“I will not have a typical pureblood relationship, Harry James Potter! I won’t!”

 

“Uh-oh,” Ron mumbled and took a seat on the sofa to watch the feathers fly. “She used your full name, Harry. You’re in for it now.”

 

Harry threw his lover a dark look. “Do you mind?”

 

“Not at all,” Ron said, putting his feet up on the coffee table and leaning back into the couch, getting comfy. “Continue digging your grave. I’ll be sure to set the headstone right when she’s finished with you, though.”

 

“How can you say that?” he demanded. “She’s turning you down, too, you know.”

 

Ron glanced over at Pansy and gave her a leering smile. “No, she isn’t.”

 

“Yes, she is.”

 

“Nope.”

 

Harry threw the ring box at Ron, who easily caught it. “Then ask her.”

 

Ron turned the box over in his hand, and didn’t look up when he asked, “Pans, would you like a pretty ring for Christmas this year, one that symbolizes my eternal love for you?”

 

“Does it require me to marry you if I take it?”

 

“Nope, but I might follow you around like a puppy for the rest of our lives.”

 

“Are you asking because you think I might be pregnant?”

 

“I’m asking because I love you, you infuriating witch.”

 

She went and sat on Ron’s lap, scooting his booted feet off the coffee table at the same time. “Then yes, Ronald, I would love to wear your promise ring.”

 

He tossed Pansy the box and she cooed over it as she un-wrapped it and opened the box. Her squeal of delight was loud as she took it out of the box and held it up to the light to watch as the diamond in the centre captured the sparkles of green from the emerald and red from the ruby surrounding it.

 

Ron looked around her at Harry. “See?”

 

“Coward,” Harry accused.

 

Wrapping his arms around Pansy, Ron held her to him and grinned over her head. “Got what I wanted, didn’t I?”

 

Harry sighed. “You play too much chess,” he accused. “I never would have thought of that.”

 

“S’why we make such good Auror partners. You’re heroic, and I’m tactical.”

 

Defeated by his lover’s cleverness on the one end, and his other lover’s stubbornness on the other, Harry slumped over to the sofa to sit at their sides. He watched Pansy ‘ooh-ahh’ over the ring, but noted she didn’t put it on yet.

 

He held his hand out for it and she gave it to him after a small pause.

 

“Will you wear my promise, too, Pansy?”

 

She glared at him, waiting for the rest.

 

“No, I’m not asking because I think you’re pregnant. I know you’re not. You’re not displaying any of the same signs Hermione did when she and Theodore Nott…erm, and you didn’t miss your period this month, either. I know. I pay attention to those sorts of things.”

 

His face felt like it was on fire.

 

Pansy smiled benevolently at him and held her left hand out for him to slip the ring on. “Then yes, of course, Harry. I’ll accept your promise.”

 

He placed the ring on her finger and felt his entire body sigh with relief.

 

Irrational disaster averted.

 

“I do have a gift for both of you, too,” she said and hopped up to quickly run to the tree and retrieve a box from under it. It was wrapped…and clearly a jewelry case of some sort, about the same size as a ring box, in fact. “Open it.”

 

Ron let Harry have the honours.

 

Inside were two gold hoop earrings—nipple piercings.

 

Upon seeing them, Ron sat up, excited. “Really, Pans?”

 

She nodded, and her smile was as beautiful and shiny as the new ring on her finger.

 

This was her promise to them.

 

She was consenting to be theirs forever, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Don't make me fall in love again if he won't be here next year" lyric from "Santa Tell Me" by Ariana Grande.


	6. In the sixth year of Christmas, my true love gave to me...

* * *

 

 

**YEAR SIX: Oh what a Christmas to have the blues**

**By Harry**

 

I love him. He’s my whole world.

 

And no, I’m not ashamed of us or our life together.

 

I’m just afraid that if he and I come out as a bi-sexual couple, the world will try to tear us apart.

 

Hermione says individuals can be resplendent, but the mob wretched, and she’s right. I know the public and how it can turn on you, how it can take something good and innocent and turn it into something cheap and tawdry. How it tarnishes relationships with its judgment and criticism.

 

Pansy’s Slytherin so she understands, but I know it hurts Ron that I’ve asked him to keep us a secret all these years.

 

Maybe Ginny nailed it on the head when she told me and I’m not really the Boy-Who-Triumphed after all, but rather the luckiest Cowardly Lion in the world.

 

I’m afraid she might be right.

 

* * *

 

 

**INTERMISSION SIX**

 

Ron shuffled from foot to foot, feeling awkward.

 

He was aware of just how conspicuous he appeared standing outside the women’s dressing room of a Parisian lingerie store. And the looks he was getting from the older ladies… If their eyes could cast hexes, he’d be in flames without a bucket of water in sight!

 

Recently, his mother had been giving him a similar eye, but for a different reason: she’d been pretty vocal that she wanted a wedding to occur in his near future, but of the traditional kind where there was one groom and one bride. Ron wasn’t willing to indulge her at the cost of cutting Harry out, though, and when he’d told her as much, she hadn’t taken the news well.

 

He knew his mum loved Harry like a son, but it was becoming clear to him as he matured and began to really see the flaws of his loved ones that his mother was a traditionalist in the pureblood sense, in a way as much of one as Mrs. Parkinson. The only difference between them, really, was his mother had the good sense to shut her mouth and not say how she really felt about alternative lifestyles.

 

It was there, though, in her eyes—the judgmental belief that being gay was wrong.

 

It didn’t help that Harry’s refusal to openly admit to it was only fuel on his mother’s righteous fire.

 

In truth, Ron was sick of it, sick of the lying and tiptoeing around the subject. He and Harry had been lovers since they were twenty. They were out, but they weren’t _OUT_. They didn’t hold hands or kiss in public. They didn’t admit to being a ‘plus one’ for each other at special events. Everyone knew just by looking at them that they were a couple, but Ron was specifically asked at the start of their relationship not to talk about it with others to prevent the Rita Skeeters of the world from sensationalizing Harry’s private life ever again. Given how little his best friend’s privacy had been respected when he’d been a kid, Ron thought the request reasonable at the time. And over the years, he’d never really questioned it.

 

Then his mother had begun sniffing around and dropping hints about ‘respectability’ and how it was tied to an aging man through marriage, and suddenly Harry’s request for secrecy had been cast under the lens of somehow being ‘dirty’. The worm of doubt was beginning to gnaw away at him again, and it was making him anxious and worried. That evil voice had been mostly silent since he’d learned his lesson after the whole running away while on the horcrux hunt during the war, but lately…

 

Damn his mother and her infernal meddling!

 

A _tsking_  sound caught his attention and he glanced up…to find another old hag giving him a critical look.

 

Having had enough of the odd, sideways glances and disapproving frowns from matrons passing by, he waited for the coast to be clear and then ducked into Pansy’s changing room, closing and locking the door behind him.

 

One look at what little she was wearing and he added a Silencing Charm for good measure.

 

“You’re not supposed to see this!” she screeched at him, failing at covering up the racy matching set of knickers and bra with a hand while shooing him out with the other. “It was a Christmas gift for you and Harry!”

 

Nice sentiment, he thought, but Ron’s cock was already hard, ready to go, and it wasn’t willing to wait for Christmas for its satisfaction.

 

Besides, he needed this right now. Needed the connection to one good, uncomplicated thing in his life…

He took his coat off, tossed it aside, and began unbuckling his belt. “Give it to me early, and I won’t spoil the surprise for him,” he suggested as his zip came down. He rushed her then, shoving her against the wall, knowing how she got off on the fast and furious shit. Her eyes went wide with excitement as he tore the panties from her hips, shredding them in a few tugs. “I can keep a secret. I’m bloody good at it.”

 

Her cunt was already wet, but not enough for what he wanted to do to her. He dropped to his knees before her and dove in, ravenous for the taste of her pussy in his mouth.

 

She cried out as he licked her hard, fingered her deep.

 

Her fleshy lips were ripe and swollen by the time he lifted her up the wall, sprung his dick, and impaled her in a single thrust. Her legs tightened around his hips as he fucked her hard enough to knock the breath from them both. When she went super-cauldron hot around his dick and convulsed in his arms, he pounded into her harder, riding out her climax with her.

 

They weren’t finished, though, not by a long shot.

 

He withdrew from her drenching depths and put her on her knees. “I want it all over your pretty face,” he said as she opened her mouth and took him deep down her throat. He fucked her mouth with only slightly less aggression, but when he came, he jerked his release so her lips and chin, and even the tops of her breasts were cover in his come.

 

“Mmm, you look good with me all over you. It looks like melted sugar dripping off your chin.”

 

She wiped it off her face with her fingers, and then licked them clean. “Doesn’t taste like sugar,” she told him, wrinkling her nose.

 

“Oi, you saying I’m not sweet?” he accused, tucking his exhausted cock back into place and redressing.

 

She retrieved the torn knickers from the floor and showed them to him as proof that he was anything but sweet, then tossed them into the corner. “You’re going to have to buy the set now, you know,” she told him, taking the torn bra off and adding it to the discard pile. Hell, had he done that, too? “And I’m going to have to think of something else now for your Christmas gifts.”

 

“I’ll look forward to it,” he sighed with happiness.

 

Sitting on the nearby bench, worn out after that marathon, Ron leaned back and was content to watch her spend the rest of the afternoon trying on set after set of lingerie. Together, they picked out a few naughty and sexy pieces to take home to Harry, too.

 

She never asked him what was wrong, but he knew Pansy sensed his disquiet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Oh what a Christmas to have the blues" lyric from "Please Come Home For Christmas" by Bon Jovi.


	7. In the seventh year of Christmas, my true love gave to me...

* * *

 

 

**YEAR SEVEN: Maybe I'll settle down, maybe I'll just leave town, maybe I'll have some fun, maybe I'll …         **

**By Ron**

 

I’m getting older and it’s starting to show.

 

Still fit, still able to chase down dark wizards without losing my breath after a sprint, but the dark circles that are so famous under my father’s eyes appear now on my face, too, and I can’t eat as much without doing a hundred extra sit-ups and a second run twice a week.

 

My beard is starting to flash some white, too, so on a whim one morning, I shave it off.

 

My witch likes my face smooth and my chest fuzzy, but my wizard’s just the opposite. I figure Harry’s been catered to for the past decade, so it’s Pansy’s turn. At least, that’s the excuse I make when asked about the smooth chin and cheeks.

 

I look a little younger without all the facial hair, anyway.

 

Now I just have to watch my weight.

 

* * *

 

 

**INTERMISSION SEVEN**

 

Pansy’s mother, Rosealyn, was worse than Mrs. Weasley in Harry’s opinion—which was saying a lot given Molly held to outdated pureblood traditions when it came to the idea of relationships…specifically, that they should be between one man and one woman.

 

Ron thinks Harry’s oblivious to Mumma Molly and how she feels about her son shagging a man, but the truth is Harry’s always known she disapproves of his ‘debauching’ her little boy. He also knows the Weasley matriarch cares for him, but not enough to give Harry her blessing to love Ron with anything other than brotherly affection. What is clear is that the woman fully expects Ron will marry Pansy someday, and completely ignores Harry as anything other than ‘best man’ material for that fantasy wedding.

 

It’s much the same for Mrs. Parkinson, except the roles of the men are switched; she blamed Pansy’s unmarried state on Ron, who she viewed as being ‘in the way’ of her daughter’s marital bliss with Harry.

 

Rosealyn’s dislike for Ron was something of a surprise to Harry, given the Weasleys were pureblood. The only obvious conclusion for her prejudice was that Ron was a working class gent, a man of average means. To be honest, Harry was that as well, but his father hadn’t been. The size of the inheritance pureblood James Potter had left his only son and heir hadn’t been that much of a secret in certain circles.

 

Apparently, being rich as sin bought all manner of forgiveness from the likes of Mrs. Parkinson…and it seemed to have given her enough chutzpah to think she could demand things of him, too.

 

The Howler she’d sent that afternoon insisting that Harry marry Pansy before the year was out burned nicely in the fireplace, he thought. Its bright, white flame brought on the Christmas cheer in the Potter-Parkinson-Weasley holiday-decorated cottage.

 

“Warm enough?” he asked his lover.

 

“Mmm,” Ron answered in a sleepy grumble. He snuggled deeper into Harry’s arms as they lay on the couch together, waiting for Pansy to get home from yet another Christmas shopping spree-ganza.

 

_“Have to get in while the snow’s on hold and the sales are red hot, lovvies!”_

Honestly, the woman could spend more in a single afternoon than she made in a month at the Ministry, and her shoe collection proved it. The thing was like a baby; at the current rate it was growing, they’d need to add on a whole new addition to the house!

 

Ron mumbled something incoherent and fell back into a light slumber as Harry carded his fingers through the man’s soft, short hair. There were small strands of white now interspersed among the ginger, he noted with a grin. It was the same for his dark hair. He’d be salt-and-pepper by the time he was forty.

 

Perk of the Auror’s job.

 

“I love you,” he whispered, playing with the red-gold ends that would need a trim soon; the hair was beginning to grow over Ron’s ear. “And I’m sorry.”

 

“Fer what?” Ron asked in a voice husky from too little sleep.

 

Harry’s heart ached at the thought of all he’d put his best friend through with his insistence on their silence about the state of their relationship over the years. It had taken Pansy to point out the pain behind Ron’s blue eyes for him to finally see what he was doing to the person he loved.

 

How could he have been so self-centered for so long?

 

“For making you lie and hide this from everyone else for so long.”

 

Ron snorted. “S’nothing, Harry.”

 

“I want us to come out at the Burrow this Christmas.”

 

Against him, Ron stilled and Harry felt his lover come to full wakefulness a moment later.

 

“Don’t say no,” he pleaded. “I got you something for the occasion.”

 

He took the small package from between the sofa cushions, where he’d hidden it earlier, and handed it over to his best friend. It was a small box, wrapped in silver and gold foil with a simple gold bow tied around it.

 

Slowly, Ron sat up. He reached out and took the gift from Harry’s hand, fumbling it on the pass-off in his nervousness, but recovering quickly enough to catch it before it hit the floor.

 

“What’s this?” he asked, a little confused and…was that hope in his face?

 

Harry slid off the couch and down onto his knees before his lover as Ron unwrapped the box and then opened it to find the gold commitment ring inside. “I’m yours forever,” Harry whispered before Ron could say anything, terrified of rejection, even knowing it was a silly thought. They’d been together this long, and everything had been fine. A little piece of jewellery wouldn’t change that. He’d learned that much from Pansy. “Will you be mine?”

 

He showed Ron the gold ring he already wore on his left finger. It was inlaid with an emerald, a diamond, and a ruby, just like the one he’d bought his best friend and lover.

 

Ron’s hand shook as he took the ring out of the box and held it up to the light. It sparkled as brilliantly as Pansy’s had. Harry had the set made when he’d bought hers, but he’d been hesitant to bring out the matching rings for him and Ron, knowing that their appearance would set tongues to wagging. He hadn’t wanted the attention then, hadn’t wanted it to ruin this small bubble of happiness he’d been able to find in a lifetime filled with pain and uncertainty.

 

He’d been too afraid of other people for too long.

 

“Harry, mate, I’ve always been yours,” Ron said, his voice as shaky as his hand. “You don’t have to do this.”

 

“I want to, just like I wanted to with Pansy.” Harry slipped the ring onto Ron’s left hand, sealing the deal. “I want _us_ , you and me, to be just as clear to everyone, too.”

 

“Yeah, okay,” Ron agreed, clearly shook up by the significance of the gesture.

 

“Well, it’s about time,” Pansy said as she leaned over the back of the sofa and kissed Ron on the cheek. Her hands were full of brightly-coloured bags stuffed to the brim with Christmas goodies and their weight nearly tipped her over and into Ron’s lap. “Welcome to the club, lover! Now, help me put my haul away!”

 

Ron took one look at all of the items in her hands and groaned. “Witch, your Christmas shopping habit is as tame as your list of sexual fetishes—which is to say, not at all.”

 

“For your information, most of this is for your mother, Ronald Weasley. Do you know how hard it is to find something she’ll like that’ll distract her long enough to get her to stop nagging me about weddings?”

 

Picking himself up off the floor, Harry moved around the couch to help relieve Pansy of some of her burden, Ron at his side as always. Her appearance and timing had helped ease the tension of the moment, made it feel less formal and more natural. He appreciated her Slytherin sensibilities when it came to such things, because sometimes, he was terrible at communicating about how he felt. He was good at listening, at helping others, but when it came to his own emotions and reactions…there was a lot of work to still be done there.

 

He lifted one of Pansy’s bags…and nearly fell over from the weight. “Jesus, what did you buy?” he groaned. “An entire dish set for twelve?”

 

“Twenty-four,” she admitted, “which is harder to do than you know.”

 

Ron grunted as he lifted a few of her bags as well, and the muscles in his arms bulged with the effort. “Is this everything, then?”

 

“Well, just these and the twenty or so boxes outside.”

 

Harry shared a glance with Ron and in that simple look there was a world of accord.

 

They were back to being united in thought on _everything_  now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Maybe I'll settle down, maybe I'll just leave town, maybe I'll have some fun, maybe I'll…" lyrics from "Hard Candy Christmas" by Carol Hall.


	8. In the eighth year of Christmas, my true love gave to me...

* * *

 

 

**YEAR EIGHT: Silver bells**

**By Pansy**

 

Well, this is awkward.

 

My mother’s smiling like a Nundu getting ready to eat a pair of pretty Fwoopers.

 

Please don’t let her bring up marriage again. I’ll have to stab her through the eyes if she does that, and going to Azkaban on Beltane night would be bad. I’d miss all the expensive Champagne.

 

“So, my sweet, have you thought up any names yet?” she asks with a false smile on her perfectly painted lips as Harry and Ron scuttle off to the wet bar and leave me to face the music alone.

 

I frown in confusion. “What are you talking about, Mother? I’m not pregnant.”

 

“Oh, dear, I’d assumed…”

 

She indicates the paunch at my waist, a result of too much chocolate cake and not enough exercise these past few months.

 

I blanch.

 

This is worse than marriage talk.

 

I’ve hit middle age, and my mother has finally noticed.

 

 

* * *

 

 

**INTERMISSION EIGHT**

 

 The magical alarm was blaring as the turkey burned.

 

“Fuck!”

 

Coughing and covering her mouth to keep the fumes at bay, Pansy waved her wand and shut the oven down. The charred lump in the pan that had been the main course for tonight’s meal was then levitated over to the sink and dumped in, cold water set to it. One of the pans on the stove top was shoved off the eye, its contents a shrunken mass of green and brown that looked about as appetizing as a giant’s bowel movement. The other pan was steaming, the water within it completely evaporated. And the pie crust rising in the bowl on the counter…was it supposed to turn grey?

 

“Fuck,” she snarled again.

 

Christmas dinner was ruined.

 

Slumping down to the floor for a good cry, Pansy covered her eyes and let loose the waterworks. It was the first time she’d actually tried to cook. She’d followed the recipes to the letter, did everything the dumb book required, but still she’d made an epic fail.

 

She was terrible at the whole wife thing. It’s why she still refused to become one.

 

The fact was she’d never be as good as Molly Weasley at this home domesticating thing. Hell, the best she could hope for was to end up her mother’s clone, a woman whose grandest achievement had been picking out patterns for her father’s funeral last year.

 

The thought sent her into a spiral.

 

That was how Harry and Ron had found her a few minutes later, as they came in from the Alley, helping George close up his shop for the next week during the Christmas hols.

 

“Pansy!” Ron dropped his WWW shopping bags and rushed to her, falling to his knees at her side. He took her hands in his. “What’s happened, love?”

 

“I’m crap at cooking, that’s what!” she wailed, waving at the mess on the stove and in the sink. “I’m just not good at this hearth-and-home stuff, Ron. The only things I seem to be able to do right anymore are shop and sleep…and eat!” She indicated her expanded waistline and broke into another round of sobbing at how rounded she’d become at thirty. “I’m fat and I can’t cook, and I ruined Christmas!”

 

Ron consoled her as Harry made his way over to the sink, the evidence of her failure a crime scene for him to investigate. He did it with a grimace and with a sympathetic gaze. “I think it might be dead. Looks dead.” He turned to the mush that was in the sauce pan and used a wooden spoon to stir it. “Was this bean soup?” he asked.

 

“Yorkshire pudding!”

 

Harry winced. “Oh. Well, then, take-away it is,” he decided and reached for his Muggle technology to help him place a call to the local curry restaurant they all loved. When he was done, he hung up and then joined Pansy on the floor, leaning against the kitchen island. “Twenty-five minutes and I’ll go pick it up.” He wrapped an arm around her shoulders as Ron stood and started cleaning up the disaster zone. “Your nose is red,” he gently teased her and reached into his pocket to withdraw a handkerchief, which he passed off to her.

 

She took it with a ‘thank you’ and blew her nose into it as delicately as possible.

 

“Better. Kissable again.”

 

“Sorry,” she said, feeling inordinately better after having cried it all out of her system. “I don’t know what’s come over me lately. I feel so…moody.”

 

At the stove, Ron went still.

 

Harry nodded. “We’ve noticed. You’re also tired all the time and you’re going through the sweets like Honeydukes is running out.” He took her hand in his, stared at the ring he and Ron had given her and how the light from above caught the beautifully cut facets. “And you missed your last period.”

 

Like the flame in her head was suddenly blown out, Pansy froze.

 

“You’re pregnant this time, love. I’m pretty sure.”

 

Shit. Really?

 

“Ron agrees.”

 

Nonononono! Pregnant?

 

Her?

 

“But I’m on a potion,” she countered, palms sweating and chest pumping in fear as the doubt crept in from the sides, whispering dark thoughts in her head. It was true she’d exhausted easily of late, and was nauseated on occasion in the morning…but she hadn’t thrown up yet over it, and that was a requirement of pregnancy, wasn’t it? “No, I can’t be! I just can’t!”

 

Ron abandoned his cleaning to come to her side, too. “Hermione says the bad flu you had back in October…the medicines you were taking for it could have nullified any Contraceptive Potion on the market.”

 

Well, hell, Granger would know. She was a Healer at St. Mungo’s, and the witch had just given birth to a second ankle biter this past summer. Theo, who'd divorced Daphne years ago for the Mud-...er, Muggle-born witch, had been ecstatic to be a father again.

 

And yes, okay, Pansy did notice that she’d been having typical pregnancy-related symptoms this time around. The cravings, the smells that sometimes made her gag…

 

Shit-fuck-damn, she’d fallen into the trap, hadn’t she?

 

“I didn’t know that was possible,” she stammered, trying to make it clear she hadn’t actually expected or planned such a thing. “If I had-”

 

“We know,” Harry told her, kissing her cheek and trying to calm her down as the panic inside expanded. “But it is what it is. We bought a Muggle test for you to check, just in case. If it says positive, there’s no doubt. If not, we can still go to St. Mungo’s later to do a blood test to be sure.”

 

Her hands felt like ice in his hold. “I can’t do this,” she said, terrified at the thought of becoming a mother now. Ever. What if she did it wrong? What if she was just like her bitch-queen mother? She didn’t want to raise a child she ended up resenting, too! “I can’t do this, not alone!”

 

Ron calmly cupped her cheeks and forced her to meet his steady eye. “You’re not alone, love. Never alone. We already talked about it, Harry and me. Either way you decide to take this, we’re with you. We will be with you every step of the way. And nothing changes between us.” He kissed her lips, and it was soft and sweet, but she could feel his nervous breath against her mouth as he exhaled. “We love you.”

 

“We’ll support whatever decision you want, if you are pregnant,” Harry agreed, sliding in behind her and pressing a soft kiss to her throat. His warm arms embraced her, held her between them with a steady hand. “No pressure from us. Your choice.”

 

She took a deep, shuddering breath and let it out slowly.

 

She was overreacting. Harry and Ron did not view her as her father had viewed her mother. They would never treat her as a brood mare. They respected her, loved her. She was in their lives with or without children. Eight years together had taught her as much.

 

It was time to let go of that fear and grow up.

 

Everything felt surreal as they helped her get up off the ground and escorted her through the cottage to the back bathroom. It had to be shock, because rationally, she was aware of where she was headed and why…and intuitively she even knew what the test would say.

 

As she slipped out of their hold and into the bathroom, she stared at the Muggle test lying out on the sink, ready for her use. Twice before they’d had this same scare and twice it had been negative, but back then she hadn’t felt so sore and sensitive. Her breasts were tender now, and her clothing a bit tighter in the seat and waist, and she was definitely tired a lot more than usual. All the signs were present.

 

She knew.

 

Even without the proof, she knew she was pregnant.

 

Still, the box stared at her, waiting for her to pick it up and confirm her that her woman’s intuition was spot-on this time. And instead of feeling like an omen, as it had the first two times she’d done this, it suddenly felt like a blessing.

 

Harry or Ron—which man had managed to get her up the duff, she wondered.

 

Really, it didn’t matter.

 

Together, they were going to be the best parents on the planet!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Silver bells" lyric from "Silver Bells" by Jay Livingston and Ray Evans.


	9. In the ninth year of Christmas, my true love gave to me...

* * *

 

 

**YEAR NINE: You're as cuddly as a cactus, you're as charming as an eel**

**By Harry**

 

At first, she was excited.

 

Then she got bigger and started to complain.

 

There was also copious amounts of vomiting, a couple of death threats if we ate any more of her favourite sweet pickles, more than a few bouts of crying over finding dead spiders in the corners, and some broken crockery thrown against walls whenever she weighed herself.

 

It was a trying time.

 

The sex stopped after month six—for all of us. Her pregnancy wasn’t as glowing and wonderful as advertised, and so she didn’t want our dicks anywhere near her…or each other. If she wasn’t getting any, we couldn’t either.

 

That was an even harder time to manoeuver, and there were a lot of cold showers.

 

Then, by the beginning of summer, an oppressive heat wave lingered around the area. She blamed us for it, of course…and for her swollen ankles and freakishly random hot flashes, and for the fact that her breasts were bigger than a mountain and she missed her pretty bra sets.

 

The cold showers were a blessing by then.

 

While suffering contractions, she vowed that the discussion about castration was ‘back on the table’.

 

Finally, our son was born…several weeks early….on Draco Malfoy’s birthday.

 

That wanker will never let us live it down.

* * *

 

 

**INTERMISSION NINE**

 

The tree was up, the ornaments sparkling.

 

 _Baby’s First Christmas_.

 

Ron leaned back into the sofa’s cushions and shut his eyes, enjoying the brief peace that came from having the house all to himself and little Jamie down for the count, finally. Children were exhausting, he decided. Really, he had no idea how his parents had done seven of them, when he could hardly keep up with one!

 

The Floo roared to life just as he was almost asleep and it woke him up straight up, set his heart to racing. He reached for his wand on the coffee table...

 

Out of those brilliant green flames slithered Draco Malfoy.

 

Ron was tempted to ‘accidentally’ Stupefy his guest, and later claim it self-defence. Instead, he set his wand back down with a resigned sigh, knowing Pansy would chew off his leg if any harm came to her oldest friend. Besides, Ron knew why the little blighter had shown up on Christmas Eve, and he wasn’t about to deprive Jamie of a gift, especially from a godfather richer than half the Ministry combined.

 

If only he could gag the man so he’d stop whispering all sorts of foul ideas in Jamie’s tiny, pink ear about someday being sorted into Slytherin…

 

“Weasley,” the man greeted him, presents in hand. “Happy Christmas.” Before Ron could reply, his guest shoved the stack of green and silver wrapped gifts at him and traded off, picking Jamie up from his cot next to the sofa. “There’s my little man,” the ferrety prat greeted his godson, grinning at the boy. “How’s my wriggly Silver Snake today?”

 

Ron ground his back teeth to keep from punching the guy in the mouth. “He’s roaring like a lion, actually,” he replied. “Just settled him down, in fact.”

 

Malfoy shrugged, as if it was of no matter that it had taken Ron the better part of two hours to get the boy quieted. “He never minds me picking him up, day or night.” He turned back to Jamie and smiled down at him. “Do you, _mon chou_?”

 

The use of the too-familiar nickname got Ron’s hackles up and all civility jumped out the window at that point.

 

“Why do you keep calling him that? He’s not a cabbage head!”

 

Malfoy’s grey eyes shifted to him, and they were as cold as ice chips in an arctic wind. “It happens to be a traditional family nickname for our children.”

 

“He’s not _your_  child, and it’s prancy!”

 

“He was born on _my_  birthday, and it is not!”

 

“It is! I looked it up! Did you know a _chou_  is also a kind of poofy French pastry?” He stood and sneered down at the man who had made his middle school years so miserable, hoping to intimidate the beady-eyed ponce right out the front door. “You’re calling Jamie a crème head!”

 

“I think it’s an adorable nickname,” Pansy admitted, sweeping into the room on Harry’s arm. The two had been out finishing up the last of the Christmas shopping, a task Ron detested and Harry enjoyed far too much in his opinion. They brushed the snow off their cloaks and then Harry took them to hang them up. “And Jamie likes it, too,” she told him.

 

The fight ended the minute she stepped into the room, both Ron and Malfoy acting on their best behaviour in front of her by silent, mutual agreement. They didn’t even glare at each other a final time over her head as she crossed the room to them to greet her son in Malfoy’s arms.

 

“Don’t you, my sweet boy?” she cooed at the baby while tickling his tummy at the same time. “You like being called a ‘chou-chou’.”

 

Jamie giggled, and then burped.

 

Malfoy smiled like a smug cat, knowing he’d won this round.

 

Ron had to remind himself repeatedly that it was Christmas Eve, a time for peace on earth and goodwill towards all…and that the magistrate wouldn’t be available tonight to hear his case and set bail if he was arrested for pounding mistletoe down the throat of an annoying holiday _guest_.

 

“Has he taken his medicine?” Pansy asked him, drawing him out of his darker thoughts and back into the light. She checked the clock on the mantle. “It’s about that time.”

 

“I was just about to give it to him,” Ron fibbed and headed into the kitchen to retrieve the vial the Healer had prescribed for them to give for Jamie’s croup. Their boy had suffered a bad bout once the snow had arrived in November, but he’d finally turned the corner on it and was recovering. The strong-smelling green liquid was foul tasting, if his son’s reaction to it was anything to gauge it by, but it had certainly done the trick, he couldn’t deny. “Got it!”

 

Re-entering the front room, he passed the vial off to Pansy. “Here.”

 

“Would you like to do the honours?” she asked her closest childhood friend.

 

Malfoy and Pansy shared a secret smile as she passed the medicine off to him and he placed three drops on Jamie’s tongue. It was a look that spoke of a long friendship and the kind of brother-sister relationship that made Ron’s jealousy flare to life.

 

Rationally, he knew Pansy wasn’t interested in Malfoy like that, nor he in her, but the guy had always rubbed him the wrong way, and in his books tolerance did not equate to forgiveness. He’d never like blondie. The best he could do was suffer his presence and his place in his boy’s life, for Pansy’s sake.

 

If that wasn’t love, he didn’t know what to call it.

 

“Who’s for a Snowball?” Harry suddenly asked from the kitchen, probably sensing Ron’s mood and looking for a way to divert it, as usual.

 

“Me,” Ron said, desperately needing some booze right about then. It had been a tough day watching after the squirt all alone, and the presence of the bouncing ferret hadn’t improved things. “A tall glass.”

 

“I’ll take one, too,” Malfoy replied.

 

“None for me, as you know,” Pansy chimed in. She’d been alcohol-free for the last year, and would continue to be so while she nursed, at her insistence. “Time to feed and change the sprog anyway.”

 

She took Jamie into her arms and was off to his room then, while Harry mixed the drinks in the kitchen.

 

It was a strained silence in the living room for several long minutes after that as Ron and Malfoy both waited for Harry to finish up and come intervene, to diffuse the tension between them, as he was wont to do of late. In the meantime, Ron wasn’t about to be polite and offer his inconvenient guest a seat, and Malfoy wasn’t about to sit down in his presence.

 

When Harry finally came into the room, he was sly about positioning himself between Ron and Malfoy, but he did so in such a way that there was no question to any of them as to which front he stood upon. He handed out the drinks.

 

“Thanks, Potter.”

 

“Welcome, Malfoy. How’s your mother?”

 

“She’s fine. Sends her best, as always.”

 

Narcissa Malfoy had been most thankful to Harry for using all his influence after the war to request ol’ Lucius serve out his lifetime sentence on house arrest rather than rotting in Azkaban, where he’d belonged. Harry had done it to make them even, so he wouldn’t owe her any life debt for her having lied to the Dark Lord’s face for him during the Final Battle, not because he’d given a bloody whiff about the Malfoy patriarch’s fate. Lady Malfoy had understood, but had still been thankful. They’d been cordial to each other ever since.

 

And that was the reason Malfoy was playing nice with Harry, too.

 

Well, that and because Pansy had threatened beheadings.

 

“Tell her the same for me,” Harry offered. “And wish her a Happy Christmas as well.”

 

“I’ll do that, thank you.”

 

The two started discussing Quidditch then, and Ron just couldn’t take any more ‘make nice’ conversation at that point. He excused himself and went into Jamie’s room to be with his witch and his son.

 

Pansy was nursing while sitting on the bed that would one day serve as Jamie’s first. Her full, heavy breast was being suckled upon, and their son’s loud slurping said he was having a jolly time of it.

 

“Lucky fellow,” Ron mused with a grin. “To think, this is where it all starts for a bloke.”

 

“What starts?”

 

“The obsession,” he said and waggled his eyebrows while leering at her bosom.

 

She laughed. “In some men’s cases, it never ends.”

 

“Not where you’re concerned,” he admitted and scooted closer to her. “I miss your nipples, and the rings on them.”

 

“They’ll be back someday.”

 

The conversation was beginning to arouse him. “Will they? You’ll put them back in after Jamie’s weaned then?”

 

She looked up at him, and in her grey gaze there was definite heat.

 

“I will if you will,” she dared him.

 

He’d taken his nipple piercings out at the same time she had earlier in the year, in a show of solidarity. In truth, he’d missed them and the things both his lovers could do with them. It would hurt to open them back up, as the holes had mostly closed, but he’d do it.

 

“Deal,” he told her and the pact was made.

 

He glanced down at his sleepy son, who was beginning to nod off, even as he halfheartedly continued to suckle. The single tuft of dark brown fluff on the top of his head was starting to grow finally. Soon, it would need a trim or he’d end up looking as unfortunate as Harry.

 

“Still got a way to grow though, huh, pip?”

 

He could wait. Patience was something he’d learned on the job.

 

Pansy turned her attention back to what their son was doing, getting ready to close up shop for the night so she could quickly change his nappie and then set him into his cot. Ron took that moment to let his eyes feast upon her lovely profile. He reached up and tucked a stray silvery-gold strand of her hair back behind her ear. “You’re still the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen,” he whispered, feeling his heart pounding with love for her. It seemed bizarre to him sometimes that they had such rivalry as children and yet now she was a part of his very soul. “How’d I get so lucky that you’d want me back?”

 

She leaned over and kissed him, and it was tender and sweet.

 

“Miracles always happen for us during this time of the year, Weasley. Don’t you know?”

 

He thought back to the first time they’d gotten together at that Ministry Christmas ball…how she’d gotten on her knees and sucked his cock until his mind was blown.

 

Yeah, she’d been his miracle that night…and every night since.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "You're as cuddly as a cactus, you're as charming as an eel" lyric from "You're A Mean One, Mr. Grinch" by Theodor "Dr. Seuss" Geisel and Albert Hague.


	10. In the tenth year of Christmas, my true love gave to me...

* * *

 

**YEAR TEN: Hang all the mistletoe! I'm gonna get to know you better**

**By Ron**

_New Rules:_

_One: Holiday trips away from Britain during Christmas are a must._

_Two: Elope someplace warm. Tell no one._

_Three: Don’t forget the birth control._

 

* * *

 

 

**INTERMISSION TEN**

 

They were hidden a bit back from the beach, on a tiny spot of grass and surrounded by palms. It was the perfect place so long as they were quiet.

 

Pansy was never that, though, especially during sex.

 

And what they were doing was naughty, a favourite for all of them that was guaranteed to make them all come hard: Pansy rode atop him, while Harry was behind her, deep in her pussy as well. She took their two cocks nearly to the hilt. Once upon a time, before Jamie, they’d perfected this position, but it had been a while since they’d tried it.

 

Time and a baby hadn’t changed how perfectly they fit and made it work, though.

 

Ron reached up and cupped one full breast. He squeezed and a bit of milk dribbled out. Jamie was still feeding, but only irregularly now. He was almost fully weaned off his mother’s milk and on total solids, so she didn’t put out as much anymore. He groaned and pulled her down so he could suckle at her.

 

“Oh, god!” she cried as his lips wrapped around her taut bud and pulled. “That’s…oh!”

 

Behind her, Harry slammed hard. “Is he sucking your nipple?”

 

“Yes,” she panted, arching and taking both of their pricks like she could never get enough. “I’m going to come.”

 

She did with a wail that blew their cover, should anyone else be walking down the beach at that particular hour of the day.

 

At that moment, Ron couldn’t have cared, though, as he felt his wife’s inner muscles convulse as Harry’s prick rubbed against his just right, and he totally lost it. He released deep inside her as his cock was getting stroked and milked by his lovers.

 

“Fuck, I love that!” Harry all-but howled and joined them with a final thrust.

 

Ron felt him pulse, the heat of his husband’s seed exploding against him, covering him in his thick, creamy essence, even as Pansy continued to clench and quiver and hold them both tight within her. He licked her nipple, gave a shuddering last blast and finally went still.

 

“Harry, you’re heavy,” he mumbled after a good minute.

 

They shifted until they all lay tucked together on the blanket they’d laid out over the ground earlier, naked and sweaty and totally sated. Pansy was between him and Harry, her head tucked into Ron’s chest, Harry’s knee wedged between her legs and his arm draped over them both.

 

“You were right,” she finally said around a tired yawn. “Summer in the winter months is best. I like an Australian Christmas. It’s like getting two presents in one. Let’s do this again.”

 

Ron laughed as Harry snored.

 

“I’m sure we can arrange it in a few years,” he agreed, still much too lusty to sleep for some bizarre reason. Maybe it had to do with the fact that he’d just gotten married the other day and he was still feeling the honeymoon phase. The thought that he’d finally made Harry and Pansy _his_ , and that he was _theirs_ … Elopement had been the best idea Pansy had ever had. “I want to go swimming at the Reef next time, though.”

 

His hand seemed to have a life of its own as it slid up her waist to continue fondling her breast.

 

She bent her head back, peeked up at him through one open eye, and gave him a look.

 

He grinned like a little boy caught with his hand in the sweets. “Breast man, remember?”

 

“Apparently.”

 

He dipped his fingers between her legs and felt her drenched sex…and suddenly, he was rising to the occasion and ready for a round two. Or two-hundred. Whatever number they were on now, as he’d lost count over the last week since they’d arrived at this tropical paradise. They’d been shagging like it was going out of style, and he’d been insatiable.

 

Without a word, she widened her leg, threw it over Harry’s hip and gave him the opening he wanted. Rolling his hips, he was back inside her, moving nice and slow.

 

This was the life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Hang all the mistletoe! I'm gonna get to know you better" lyric from Pentatonix.


	11. In the eleventh year of Christmas, my true love gave to me...

* * *

 

 

**YEAR ELEVEN: Christmas eve will find me where the love light gleams**

**By Harry**

 

You never really plan for these things, or so I’ve been told. They’re the will of a higher power and just happen, according to Mrs. Weasley.

 

For the first nine months of this year, Rosealyn Parkinson was a bit less theocratic in her beliefs on the matter, and a lot more judgmental about the men in Pansy’s life taking a bit more personal responsibility for where they stuck their cocks.

 

Now, she’s a bit less sanctimonious about the matter…especially after Pansy named our daughter in her mother’s honour.

 

But the planning thing…I think that’s true about love in general, isn’t it?

 

You never expect it.

 

It just happens, like all miracles.

 

* * *

 

**INTERMISSION ELEVEN**

 

Everything was pastel pink, to celebrate Rose’s first Christmas.

 

Harry didn’t mind, although he thought the colour terribly clashed with the shock of bright red hair atop his daughter’s head. She’d never be a girl who would be able to carry off pink—that much was for certain. He wasn’t going to tell Pansy that, though. He liked his bollocks right where they were, thanks ever so.

 

Jamie was enamoured with his little sister. He lay down in her cot with her, watched her nurse from Pansy’s breast with adoration, and he talked to her constantly. The boy was a gabber-mouth now that he’d learned how to form complete sentences. He never shut up, which was just fine as far as Harry was concerned, because it just proved his son was as bright as a lit-up tree and twice as curious as a Kneazle. Some days it drove the others up a wall, but no one ever discouraged the boy from inspecting and inquiring to his heart’s content.

 

Definite Auror material.

 

Harry was inordinately proud.

 

Rose, on the other hand, was a quiet baby. Her gaze was sharp, and it was clear at three months that she’d be an early developer for crawling, but she cried and fussed very little. It worried Pansy, but not Ron, who’s mother insisted he’d been the very same as an infant.

 

Harry wasn’t worried. Instinct told him Rose would turn out to be the cleverer of their children…and that she was bound for Slytherin, whether Ron liked it or not.

 

With one look, Malfoy had agreed.

 

Speaking of… Glancing over at their guest, he found the man was sitting on the sofa, a prisoner to Jamie and one of his exciting made-up stories about pirates, and that little Rose was fast asleep in Draco’s arms, one tiny hand clenched in the man’s shirt. On the other side of him sat his three-year old son, Scorpius, who was equally as ensnared by Jamie as his father.

 

A quick look around, and he found Mrs. Weasley, Draco’s wife, Astoria, and Hermione in the kitchen discussing his best friend’s newest addition, little Thaddeus Granger-Nott, who was eating up the female attention. Her husband, Theo, was entertaining his two other children in the dining room while engaged in a discussion about politics with Mr. Weasley, Mrs. Parkinson, and Narcissa Malfoy.

 

Ron and Pansy were conspicuously absent.

 

Slowly meandering his way through the Christmas Eve party-goers, he wound around furniture and decorations to the back hallway, where the bedrooms were located. A quick look and he could see a light shining under the door of the one he and his spouses shared.

 

On sneak feet, he made his way to the door and pressed his ear to it.

 

The sound of a bed creaking and a feminine gasp had him going harder than steel in his trousers. Quickly, he stealthed his way inside his bedroom, and then locked the door and Silenced it for good measure.

 

When he turned around, it was to find Pansy in her cocktail dress, bent over the bed and Ron drilling her from behind. His trousers and pants were around his ankles and his tie thrown over one shoulder. Neither of them had fully undressed. Harry cupped himself and watched the action without a word. He stroked softly over his crotch as his husband and wife got each other off in a house full of guests, excited that they would dare something so naughty.

 

When Ron grunted and came and then withdrew, Harry was suddenly there to take his place. Pansy remained oblivious to his presence while she recovered from her orgasm.

 

There was a moment of surprise on Ron’s face as Harry shoved him aside and unzipped, but then his husband grinned, gave him the thumbs-up, and moved off to redress. Harry took that opportunity to drop trou and grab Pansy’s hips. He slammed home in a single thrust, making her arch and cry out. She knew immediately who it was behind her, hissed his name in pleasure as he pounded her until she was wailing and her cunt was clenching around him in a second climax.

 

When she’d gone utterly limp, he pulled out, reached into the bedside table’s top drawer and grabbed some lube, and then slathered her arse with it.

 

She moaned.

 

“I’ve been dying to take this sweet arse today,” he teased and tormented her with his fingers, thrusting them in deep and stretching her in a scissoring motion. “You want this, don’t you, you naughty witch. Come in both holes when you go back out there to face them all. Tell me the thought doesn’t turn you on.”

 

“Oh, Merlin, yes!” Her thighs were quaking and her voice shook with anticipation. “You’re really an evil man, Harry Potter. Everyone thinks you’re so straight and good, but you’re not at all. You’re totally wicked!”

 

He grinned, withdrew his fingers and placed the head of his wet cock at her tiny rosette. “I know,” he admitted, and with a firm grip on her hips, slowly inched his way inside her arse. “You love me for that deceit, don’t you?”

 

“I so do!” She gasped and arched, stretched around him as he took her an inch at a time, spreading her open. “I love every villainous bit of you!”

 

When he was fully seated within her, he held still on purpose, forcing her to teeter on the edge with him. He was so close… A light spank to her bottom had her crying out in pleasure. “That’s for sneaking off with Ron to shag without me.” He gave her other cheek a nice, little whack. “And that’s for getting me so horny I had to fuck you despite the fact your mother’s in the next room.”

 

“Harry…” she warned, shaking so hard he could feel her eagerness for him to get on with it. He knew she was worried they’d get caught since they’d been gone for so long. “Move, now!”

 

He circled his hips, but didn’t thrust just yet. “Say what I want to hear first.”

 

She whimpered.

 

He spanked her again for her stubbornness.

 

“I love you,” she cried out, circling her hips to entice him to move. He could feel her cunt fluttering through the tender tissues just under his dick as another climax threatened to overtake her. “Sir, your witch needs you to love her back, please!”

 

“Good girl,” he crooned.

 

He began moving then, setting a fast and hard pace from the start, knowing they were on borrowed time. Eventually, the guests outside would start asking where their hosts were, and Ron was good at distracting one-on-one, but not en masse.

 

“I love you,” he growled, feeling his balls beginning to burn, his spine curling at the base as the need took over and sent him to the edge. “Forever, my witch. I’m yours!”

 

She vowed the same as they soared together, their bodies connected as intensely as their souls.

 

They were in this for life, he reminded her afterwards, as they hurriedly redressed and used magic to clean up and make themselves presentable once more. “For every Christmas from now to eternity,” he whispered as he bent to kiss her mouth. “Whether it’s pastel pinks, or red and gold, or silver and green…I want it all, every day.”

 

On tiptoe she kissed him back. “That’s probably for the best, since I’m never letting go, either.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Christmas eve will find me where the love light gleams" lyrics from "I'll Be Home For Christmas" by Buck Ram, Kim Gannon, Walter Kent.


	12. In the twelfth year of Christmas, my true love gave to me...

* * *

 

 

**YEAR TWELVE: Santa baby, forgot to mention one little thing...**

**By Pansy**

 

Twelve years ago at a lame Ministry holiday ball, I’d been determined to prove that I could bring Potter and Weasley to their knees on a whim.

 

By the end of the night, I’d been the one on the floor (and draped across the table, and hunched over a chair), thoroughly seduced by them both.

 

After that, every December has been a new revelation for me.

 

I used the detest holidays, found them to be a practical joke. Thought they were only good for one thing.

 

Now…

 

Christmas really is the best time of the year!

 

* * *

 

**INTERMISSION TWELVE**

 

They sneaked into the living room once the children were abed and set up the presents under the tree.

 

Ron assured the door to the living room was locked and Silenced, just in case any curious, little minds decided to get up and meander about in the middle of the night, too eager to wait for morning and the surprise waiting for them.

 

Harry filled the stockings hanging from the fireplace while sucking on a candy cane.

 

Pansy ate all of the fruit cake left for Santa, a sudden craving for it taking her over and making her shaft her diet for just one night. A dessert now and then never hurt anyone, right?

 

When they were done getting everything ready for their children’s holiday in the morning, they collapsed on the sofa together and relaxed before the cheery fire as it burned low in the grate. It had been a long week of last-minute shopping, a party at the Burrow, another at Nott Manor, a Ministry charity ball in between. Finally, it was done and tomorrow was the big day.

 

Then, they could pack it all up…only to do it all again next year.

 

“Oi, who got Rose the stuffed toy dragon?”

 

To her right, Harry laughed. “Who do you think?”

 

Ron scowled. “Ferrety git. If he thinks he’s going to someday get Rose to marry his Scorpius, he’s got another thing coming!”

 

Pansy sighed in happiness at the thought. Her daughter was a cute, squishy caterpillar that had all the earmarks of one day emerging from her cocoon as a strikingly beautiful butterfly. As for Scorpius…Draco’s sharp, pointy angles had been rounded out by Astoria’s gentler genetics in their son and yet the boy was tall and thin for his age, like his father and grandfather had been. It was pretty much a foregone conclusion that he would grow to be a gorgeous, fit man, so long as he balked his father’s addiction to sweets.

 

Draco was starting to get chubby around the middle.

 

“They both have such pretty hair,” she said, as if that sealed the deal between the children. “I bet they’ll make a lovely couple someday. Either that or she’ll quietly murder him and bury him in the backyard by the time they’re sixteen.”

 

“He won’t give her a reason to want to kill him. He’ll be Hufflepuff,” Harry predicted with a suffering sigh of his own. “Rose is going to own his soul by the time they finish Hogwarts.”

 

“Unless Jamie gets to him first,” Pansy pointed out. Everyone saw how charmed the Malfoy boy was for their son, too, and Jamie seemed equally as fascinated by the quiet boy with the platinum hair and solemn grey eyes. “You never know.”

 

Next to her on her left, Ron snorted. “There’s always Hermione’s boys. Maybe we can pawn one of them off on Malfoy’s kid.”

 

“You just don’t want Draco as an in-law relation,” Harry accused.

 

“That would be at the top of my Christmas wish list, yeah.”

 

Regardless, it was silently understood that their two families would most likely end up tied up at some point down the line. It seemed an inevitable karma.

 

Of course, Pansy wouldn’t discourage such a thing. The Malfoys  _were_  quite wealthy…

 

She leaned her head on Ron’s shoulder. “You want to know my only Christmas wish this year?” she asked him.

 

He took her hand. “Of course.”

 

On the other side, Harry did the same with her right hand. “Tell us,” he encouraged her.

 

“To have one more child, to make things even. Three of us, three of them.”

 

Next to her Harry stiffened, as did Ron.

 

“Really?”

 

She wasn’t sure which of them asked it, as they were both acting a bit squirrely all of the sudden and that had made her so nervous, her heart had started pounding, which had distracted her… “You don’t want another child?”

 

“Um…”

 

“Er…”

 

They didn’t, did they? The idea was a bit of a crushing blow, honestly. She’d hoped...

 

Quietly, Harry handed her a wrapped box that he’d sat to the side when he’d been putting down the gifts under the tree earlier.

 

“We’re pretty sure that wish-” Ron began.

 

“-has already come true,” Harry finished.

 

Frowning in confusion, she took the gaily wrapped box from them and tore it open, eager to see what was inside.

 

It was a Muggle pregnancy test.

 

“You missed your period,” they said together.

 

Had she again?

 

Oh, dear…

 

**_~FIN~_ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Santa baby, forgot to mention one little thing..." lyric from "Santa Baby" by Joan Javits, Philip Springer, Tony Springer


End file.
